Three Times I Met Hal
by Bambi18
Summary: One-Shot based on a throwaway comment in the UK's "Being Human" about some events in Hal's past - namely him murdering a girl called Catherine. Rated T to be safe.


_First_

It was cold, the sort of cold that slowly seeps its way into the very bones of you, freezing the marrow until even someone as hot-blooded as I cannot withstand the torment. It was getting to the point where sleep was beckoning so temptingly – it was so desirable, to sink into oblivion and escape the sharp-toothed pain – but I couldn't. I had to stay awake, and I had to stay alive. Otherwise, what was the point of huddling in this freezing cellar, clothed only in filthy rags, as the screams echoed on the three flights above?

"It will all be over soon, it will all be over soon," I muttered under my breath, hugging my knees up to my face. My words, at that moment, seemed true: the screams had stopped completely and there was no longer the periodical thump of bodies hitting the floor. It must have been a gang of robbers and murderers. You heard about them, sometimes: horror stories.

There were footsteps, on the stairs. Heading straight for me. I supressed a frightened sob and huddled closer into the alcove, pulling scratchy old potato sacks over my body in a stupid attempt to hide myself. My teeth chattered in my skull, so violently that I feared I would chip them. I struggled to control my shivering; it would not help when I was hiding for my life.

The footsteps stopped. The door handle turned – I put a fist in my mouth to stop myself from crying out – and froze. I couldn't see from underneath the pile of sacks, but I could hear strong, male footsteps as they paced the stone floor so close to me.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," a low voice said. The mysterious man was well-spoken; not at all the rough, fierce, criminal tone I had expected from such a foul creature. "I know you're in here, little one – I can sense you."

I kept still, not even breathing, feeling a single tear drip noiselessly down my dirty face. The next few seconds seemed to drag out like centuries. I could almost feel myself aging, my body decaying… then, with a suddenness so frightening that I couldn't even scream, he fell forwards and wrenched up the sacks covering me, pressing his palm over my mouth and catching my wrist with his free hand. I couldn't move. In fact, I wouldn't want to move because his eyes had transfixed me.

His eyebrows pulled together in confusion, and the terrifying, opaque blackness of his eyes subsided into a more human brown. "You're not screaming," he murmured, gently pulling back his hand. I noticed that his chin was stained with blood, and there were more drips of the sticky crimson liquid clinging to his crisp white shirt, congealing on its cleanliness. "What is your name, child?" He asked.

For a moment, all I could do was stare. He quickly became impatient, and shook me harshly. "K-K-Kitty," I forced out through shaking teeth. "It's sh-short for C-Catherine, Sir."

"And your age? Answer faster, this time!"

"S-s-seven, Sir."

He stopped for a moment, looking at me with those, dark yet cold eyes, then took his hands off me. "You are a very dirty little thing, aren't you, Catherine?"

It was the first time someone had called me Catherine in years. Not knowing how to answer, I simply looked at him, mute. I focused on looking into his eyes because the blood frightened me. I suddenly realised the reality of the phrase "frightened to death"; I felt that my frantic little heart would give out at any moment.

"You're very lucky, little Catherine, that I am full," the man continued, seemingly unaware of my internal monologue. "There are many, many servants in this house. My friends, too, are fully satisfied – for now. I daresay I could leave an inconsequential thing such as you. You wouldn't be able to tell anybody the truth. Who would believe you, after all? You're better off running, little one. Consider it my good deed for the day." He laughed darkly to himself. "As if it cancels out the evil. Child, do not cross my path again. Do you understand? If you hear the name Hal, run for your life. I shall not be so lenient again – this is simply because your mistresses put me in a good mood, and I do not wish to wash away their taste with your dirty blood."

I stayed still, transfixed, throughout his speech. After what seemed like an age of him staring at me, he laughed again, stood up and walked away. I stayed where I was for a little while longer, certain that it must be a trick or a trap of some kind. I heard them leave, laughing with each other. At least an hour later, I felt brave enough to sneak out into the kitchen and out through the back door. There were spatters of blood across walls and tables, but – thank heaven – I did not see any bodies. I took Hal's advice: I ran for my life. I never looked back, to that horrendous house of nightmares or anywhere else near there. Over the following years, however, I didn't forget the strange man, the murderer, my dark angel and my saviour.

_Second_

I knew him from the moment I saw him sauntering towards the pub, looking much more well-dressed and well-kept than when I'd last seen him. That being said, he hadn't aged – not one single day. In fact, he seemed even younger with his hair combed and his suit pristine. I hurried towards him, hands outstretched.

"Sir, Sir!" I gasped, clutching the front of his jacket.

He looked down at me in distaste, looking about him. Aside from the other regular patrons of the ale-house, we were alone. "Get your filthy hands off me, whore – I have no desire for your company tonight," he said, putting his hands on top of mine and detaching them from his person. I almost fainted from his touch.

"No, Sir, please – listen," I pleaded, "I must thank you for the grace you showed me eleven years ago."

"I do not know what you mean. You must have got the wrong man."

I shook my head vehemently. He _had_ to listen, he simply _had_ to. "Eleven years ago you let a shivering girl in a kitchen cellar live even though you had murdered the other inhabitants. I am that girl."

Understanding dawned on his face, and he hurriedly pushed me into the alleyway and pressed me up against the brick wall. Inches away from his perfect face and sweet breath, I felt a thrill go through me. My knees felt weak. He seemed unaware of my physical state; he simply stared at my bare neck with those eyes I had fantasised about for over a decade.

"You shouldn't talk about such things in the open," he murmured in a voice like silk. I'd never been so aware of my pulse, beating violently in my throat.

I lowered my head, covering the exposed jugular, and whispered, "but I know, Sir. I know what you are. I researched everything about that night, wishing to find out more about you. All the bodies found drained of blood, with bite marks… you're a v-"

"Hush!" He snapped, pressing a palm to my mouth. "I have told you to desist speaking about such things. You are a delusional little whore who could easily ruin a good man's reputation. Are you a simpleton, child? I could hurt you, you know – I could kill you in a second."

"You saved my life when I was a child. I simply wished to thank you," I said when he removed his hand.

"Well, you've thanked me. Although, personally, I see that it was a waste of time. You haven't exactly done much with that life, have you, selling yourself on the streets?" He eyed my dress, his nostrils flaring as if he found my perfume vulgar. It was vulgar, of course – everything about me was vulgar at that time. "You could be a pretty girl, you know, if you rid yourself of all of… this."

"I don't have any other choice, you know!" I snapped. "You seem to think that I decided to do this. I feel just as cheap and dirty as you view me, but no other job I could get would support me and let me send money home to my widowed mother and two younger brothers. That's why I was working at that big house – I was working to help them. Now, I can send even more to them. Do not judge me when you do not know me."

He seemed surprised and amused by my sudden ferocity. He took a step back, smiling and shaking his head. "You've done what you wished to do, little Catherine. Do not try to find me again, however – I am not always this… in control. Consider yourself warned. And here," he said, pressing a few coins into my palm, "send this to your mother." He turned and walked away, still shaking his head in disbelief. I watched him walk away, knowing that our meeting had not diminished my love for him one bit.

_Third_

Against his expressed wishes, I searched for Hal again. I wished to see his face, just once more, so that it could be in my memory forever. Now, it is.

It was a mere fortnight since our last visit. He was walking down an alleyway hurriedly, his face like thunder. The expression caused my heart to skip slightly. I was sure that, despite what he was, he would be able to resist me once more. After all, hadn't he done it twice before?

"Bad day, Sir?" I called as he passed. We were alone in the alley, in the darkness. Moonlight poured onto his figure, caressing his face. He stopped and turned to look at me, his face clearing slightly.

"My evening meal escaped from me after others interrupted us," he explained, smiling slightly. His teeth glinted in the moonlight. Still, I did not realise the danger I was in. In fact, rather the opposite – I was hypnotised by his very presence, and took a step towards him unthinkingly.

"That's a shame, Sir," I breathed, my eyes widening as I gazed at him. If this was the last time I was to see his face, I was determined to learn his features by heart.

He cocked his head to one side, staring once more at my neck. "Oh, Catherine, who on Earth will support your poor mother?"

At first, I was simply thrilled that he had remembered my name. Then his words sunk in, and I asked, "what do you mean, Sir?" Surely he couldn't mean that he would hurt me: not my Hal.

"Hush, little one, it will all be over soon," he murmured, bending his face down to mine. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, his lips pressed to mine, and I thought that I had tasted bliss. Then he pulled back. His eyes had turned into a frightening, opaque black that I vaguely remembered from my childhood. Perhaps I should have run, but I was still fixed to the spot, unable to move after that one, freezing kiss. He kissed the side of my neck, then I felt fangs tearing into the supple flesh there. I tried to cry out, but couldn't find my voice. His arms caught me and pressed me close to his chest, so close that I could feel our two hearts – his dead and mine dying – a kiss away from one another.

He must have felt it, too, because as the pain in my throat reached a peak and I felt the energy in my body ebbing away, his hand thrust through my easily splintered ribs and enclosed in a fist around my heart. I don't mind; I would have wanted him to have it.

It wasn't my Hal's fault. Killing is simply a by-product of who he is, and at that time he had not learned how to fully control himself. He is still perfect to me. I know, now, that he regrets his actions. Nonetheless, although I am gone, my love lives on with him.


End file.
